


The Dark Forest

by Galfridus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Minor Character Death, Murder, Referenced Sexual Assault, Referenced past child abuse, Set in the summer before the start of Goblet of Fire, Spoilers for Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them Movie 2, hopefully canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 20:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17884400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galfridus/pseuds/Galfridus
Summary: Nagini just wants to exist peacefully, to be left alone until the end of her days. Her plans are shattered when two strangers arrive with plans of their own. Set in the HP universe and with heavy spoilers for the second Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them film.





	The Dark Forest

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to lickitysplit for her help, as always.

The night is cold, the hushed forest breathless as the freezing air settles over her skin. Eyes wide in the dark, she feels the ground tremble as her prey approaches, the tell tale rustle of leaves betraying its location. But despite the chill she stays stock still, only her tongue flickering out quickly, the taste of sweat and decay stealing her resolve. It is many days since she last had food, and she knows from her difficult movements she can leave it no longer.

And so she waits, even as she feels the cold penetrate through her tough skin to her bones. It is summer here, the scent of flowers and ripening fruit betraying the season. But this place is never warm at night, whatever the time of year, the frequent rain driving like icicles through the leaves to patter hard on the ground. Not for the first time, she longs for the steamy jungles of her home, where the burning heat of the day clings to the earth, trapped by the lush vegetation and the broad leaves of the canopy.

The stab of homesickness is so sharp the breath catches in her lungs and she almost forgets why she lies hidden, lost in her memories of rage and regret: the smell of the sawdust that littered her clothes; the cacophony of animal calls and the feel of the rusting bars under her fingers; the way the boy had looked at her when they were alone. _Credence._ She forces herself to recall his name as she pictures the dark, somber face, the evident pain there dissolving to smiles whenever he was able to be near her. A hiss escapes her lips, soft but loud enough to echo through the trees and, with annoyance, she feels the creature she is tracking pause in its movements, evidently on the alert thanks to her carelessness.

Nagini stills her body, forcing her breath to come as slight, shallow puffs. She is no more than a stone, a branch that has fallen to the forest floor. After several tense moments, the animal resumes its activity, scurrying quickly through the leaves no doubt to find its own meal.

With a snap, Nagini strikes. She coils around the fox, squeezing the life from its lungs as its cries ring up to the sky. It sounds like a human baby, its wails so piercing that the great snake lets forth another loud hiss. She shakes her head from side to side in frustration. She is a beast, nothing more. She has no joy, no sorrow, no feelings at all; just instinct and the need to exist.

Still, it is a relief when the noises stop. She feels her body relax, the tightly bound muscle releasing the now limp body, its shape just visible by the silver light of the moon which manages to trickle through the leaves above. She pulls back her head, dislocating her jaw so that she can stretch her mouth wide, her mouth easily engulfing the pitiful mammal. The warmth of the carcass pleases her, providing some protection as it does against the intolerable chill and the fox slides down her throat. It was young and well fed, a good enough catch to last the snake for several days.

Slightly bloated, feeling the sluggishness of her movements, Nagini slides through the dry carpet of leaves, the soft rustling inevitable and entirely unwelcome. She would find the spot she usually kept to herself and sweep these leaves over her body to give her some warmth. Then would come sleep and the slow pace of digestion, maybe if the forest was quiet and free from intruders a blissful nap on a smooth, sunny stone in the morning.

It is the pull of the air that first attracts her attention. There is no sound, no smell, not even a slight tremor of the earth, and yet the entire forest is on high alert, every creature within it cowering in fear. _Magic,_ she thinks as she draws her head back, unsheathing her fangs in preparation for a fight. There is nothing here besides soil and common flora and fauna. There is no reason a wizard would be in this place, unless they had come for _her._

Nagini feels the muscles in her long body tense, her head ready to rush towards the intruder. Then the voice sounds. Not a grunt, or a whine, a _voice_ such as she has not heard for many decades, not since she had first fled to these woods when her body had permanently changed and she was left with no choice but to carry on and survive. She had been forced to give up everything; her real form, her dreams, even her heart. Credence was gone, dead because of a war that meant nothing to him, and with him she had lost the only affection she had ever truly known.

 _“Come into the light,”_ the imperious voice commands and Nagini’s blood pumps furiously through her veins. The energy of this one is dark, dangerous, even more powerful than that she had felt on that awful day. Her muscles wind more tightly as she recalls how Credence had stepped through the fire towards the one who would use him, his warm hand leaving hers as he made his choice. The monster had embraced him, pretended to care for him. And she had known with utter certainty that it was all a lie. Hate surges in her breast: no doubt this is another, a poisonous demagogue, a dark wizard with dreams of glory and death.

A chuckle floats towards her on the still air, and Nagini falters in her attack when the wizard declares, _“I know you have concerns. I also would be alarmed in your place. But I desire nothing more than your welfare. I know who you are. You are a witch, the daughter of a prestigious magical line. Yes, you are afflicted with a curse than binds your true form, but you are still a pure blood from a noble family. Believe me, my only desire is to aid you, and all others who have been oppressed by the muggles who understand nothing.”_

“Who are you?” Nagini hisses, startling herself as she pronounces the words. It is so long since she has spoken it takes her a minute to adjust, a little time for her tongue to work in the necessary way. There are no other snakes in these woods. She has been without company since she withdrew from the wizarding world. It is only now that she has someone who can speak Parceltongue standing before her that she realises just how lonely she has been.

 _“My name is unimportant,”_ the voice responds and Nagini is surprised to find she has moved from the shadows and into the clearing. It is hard to see, the gloom of the night making almost no difference to her poor vision - she had come to accept the near loss of this sense along with the rest of her human form - but it is enough for her to make out the silhouette of a small man, his head bowed and, from the feel of the air, shaking slightly. He is harmless and, from the way he is standing, she can tell he wishes to run.

She tilts her head to the side, her tongue flicking out experimentally. With a shock, she realises that the man she observes has but limited magic. It is the thing he carries like a baby in his arms, a small almost-nothing shrouded in dark cloth, who is the source of the power she can sense.

 _“I know who you are, Nagini,”_ the lump continues, its sibilant voice strong despite its size, the tone soothing and hypnotic. She finds she cannot look away. _“You have been outcast, stolen from your home, forced into servitude, given no option but to parade your beauty in front of baying crowds. Then you were cast aside, abandoned to your fate. I do not doubt that you have suffered significantly.”_

“And what is it _you_ want?” Nagini pulls herself up, slithering into the air until she is face to face with whatever it is that speaks so abominably. She can hear her own voice, the one she had when human, but it is faint, as if it were just a memory, overlaid with a hiss that sounds through the still, quiet air. “You are a Parcelmouth. Why have you come to this place in the dead of night? Explain yourself or I will strike.”

 _“You are perceptive,”_ the man replies. _“Very well. As you have so astutely deduced I have come here to find you. I mean to offer you a deal which is to your benefit as much as my own.”_

Nagini pauses, fixed like a statue as she considers her next move. She wonders if it is possible for a human to lie in the language of snakes. Animals do not dissemble, although people do as easily as breathing. But in this language would they not be bound to the truth? Before she can make up her mind he continues, _“You are a noble woman, one who should be treated with respect. That is why I do not come here with idle promises. I have come here to offer you a deal.”_

“There is nothing you can give me.” She sways her head slightly from side to side, her gaze moving to the man who trembles before her. He is pathetic, and from the way he is shaking clearly frightened out of his very wits. She can sense his fear, taste the acrid salt of his sweat. She lets forth a hiss, fixing him with a glare. A rush of satisfaction floods her as the man gives an audible whimper, and she presses her advantage, slithering closer as he cowers.

 _“If it is a meal you are looking for I can gladly supply,”_ the odd thing the man holds continues as it chuckles with amusement. _“Though I must unfortunately ask that you leave Wormtail be for the present. Humiliating as it is I find myself reliant upon his assistance. One false move from him however and he is yours.”_ The being turns as it says this, and the man holding him startles, clearly aware it is he who is being discussed.

The man squeaks, his long, matted hair quivering as he takes an involuntary pace backwards. “Master,” he pleads, “What did you say? You know I can’t understand…”

“Silence!” the voice snaps in English, its tone now harsh, the pitch high and Nagini winces a little at the ugly sound. She finds she can just about recognise the words, even though it takes her brain some time to process them. The snake moves closer until she can stretch out and touch the chastised man with her tongue. At this distance she can better examine the thing he carries, sensing its slight movements under the layers of cloth. It is a human male, she decides, or has been once, and is able to wield magic of extraordinary potential. But he is physically weak. She has the advantage. She can dispatch both him and his servant with one simple squeeze.

 _“Yes,”_ the being intones. _“You have me at the disadvantage. And yet you will benefit from what I have to offer. I know what it is to be confined to a forest, imprisoned in the cold. Join me, and I will give you shelter and sustenance. You will not have to shiver in the dark again.”_

Nagini darts to the side, preparing to strike. “I don’t need favours from _wizards_ ,” she spits. Rage pounds in her head, making her see flashes of red and she determined to kill the creature right then and there. The words are so close to those uttered before, by the one who had taken her from her home. He had promised safety, security, the protection of a family, and all she had received was the back of his hand when she dared to disobey, and a magical cage with cold, iron bars.

 _“I see,”_ the thing murmurs thoughtfully, and the great snake falters, the scales on her belly burrowing into the dirt as she stills her attack. Evidently he can read her mind. _“In that case I will offer you something more valuable. Join me and I will give you revenge.”_

“Revenge?” she asks sharply.

 _“Unless I am mistaken,”_ the wizard muses, _“you and I share a common enemy. But if this means nothing to you then I shall take my leave.”_

She should strike - now - but, despite herself, curiosity keeps her firmly in place. “I have no enemies,” she insists, her body tense and coiled, ready to spring.

_“Come now, Nagini. Surely you cannot have forgiven those who took everything from you? Do not tell me you have forgotten Credence Barebone.”_

She feels as though she has been slapped, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “He is _dead_ ,” Nagini practically screams, her body flexing with anger as she pulls back her head.

Unperturbed, the wizard continues, _“And at whose instigation?”_

The question hangs in the air as she gathers her thoughts. She can see him so clearly, the colours and focus of her memory such a contrast to the muted shades of her current vision. A pale man with white hair and odd, mesmerising eyes, one who strode with authority and spoke with promise. Grindelwald had been nothing if not persuasive. Even she had felt the pull of his words, the desire for the utopia he had described so vividly. Only, unlike Credence, she had known it was not for her: she was just a freak to be killed for amusement.

The wizard laughs, his full-throated bark resounding through the trees. _“He is in prison, shut away where no one can find him, but he is not the one you seek.”_

She waits. Decades of isolation have made her patient, and she feels her jaw tighten as she senses her interlocutor's unease at her silence, pleased to have rattled him.

 _“Do you not wish to know?”_ he finally demands.

She says nothing as the seconds tick by. Then he laughs once more, the tension breaking in an instant. _“Well, I shall tell you. Call this a gift, a token of my sincere intentions towards you. Credence was rejected and abused, then destroyed by a power he could never hope to control. He was let down by the one who should have protected him, abandoned to death by the great Albus Dumbledore.”_

“Lies!” she shouts.

He interjects quickly, _“Believe me, I have made a study of Grindelwald. I went through his private papers and I assure you, there can be no doubt about what he discovered. Credence was named Aurelius Dumbledore before his family cast him out and left him to be raised by the filthy muggle woman who tortured him, who deprived him of the acceptance he so craved and deserved. And why? For nothing more than the crime of having magic in his veins. Her vile treatment left Credence open and vulnerable. It is no wonder the Obscurus found him and consumed him. I know these muggles and their disgusting techniques, none better. I was raised in an orphanage. But that woman, depraved as she was, cannot be held fully responsible. These muggles are all alike; they need wizards to rule them to show them what is right. Albus Dumbledore is one responsible for Credence’s pain, and the way he met his end.”_

Nagini finds she has collapsed to the floor, her head now rustling among the leaves. Credence had been unwilling to talk of his past, but she had seen the scars on his body, long, raised tracks of red tissue that had healed over what must have been deep gashes of wounds. She had watched the power of the Obscurus he hosted, the way it had torn that building in Paris to pieces. To live with that inside him, ripping him so completely apart, must have been the greatest agony known to man.

This understanding was why they had been drawn to one another. She had no visible scars, her unblemished exterior too valuable to her captor, but Credence had found the ones within. Even though she was a snake at night, he had held her when she shuddered with nightmares, unable to shake off the feel of rough, calloused hands as they crawled over her skin…

“How do I know you’re speaking the truth?” she asks sharply as she forces herself to lift her head off the floor.

 _“Is what I know not proof enough?”_ The bundle moves, and she thinks she catches a flash of white, before the cover once more falls over its form. _“What I had said is not written in textbooks. The Ministry Of Magic have suppressed all information about Credence, no doubt to protect the one who betrayed him. Albus Dumbledore is a hero, the Ministry cannot see his reputation tarnished. And that is where I come in. I am going to ruin him, before he meets his sorry end. I also have reason to want him dead. You can help me achieve that. In return, I will give you vengeance for the boy you loved and who_ he _cast aside.”_

“And you want in return?” the snake finally asks.

_“Just a little of your venom, my dear. Nothing you cannot spare. Wormtail here will help collect it, and if he is rough with you…”_

Nagini ignores the stuttering mess of a man, her attention focused directly on his master. There had to be a catch. There always was. She could spare her venom without any problem, so why go to such lengths to secure her aid?

 _“I need you,”_ the wizard offers in explanation. _“You see me as I am today. I cannot survive long in this form, and not at all without what you can give me. The poison you carry is enough to help me exist until I can live once more. And when I am free, I promise you I will see to it that Albus Dumbledore perishes.”_

Her heart pumps wildly. Every instinct in her body screams no, tells her to either attack or to run. But the voice, so soft, so full of promise, pulls her forwards through the leaves and the dirt. Her body touches the blubbering servant, whose hand shakes as he pulls out a wand from his coat. A second later there comes a crack and they whip through the air, disapparating away from the woods and into the night.

***

The witch cowers before her captor. “Please!” she cries, her quivering voice little more than a whisper, her arms straining against the rope that ties her tight to the tree. “I… I don’t understand, Peter. What are you doing?”

“Shut up!” squeaks the man Nagini knows as Wormtail. He holds his wand aloft, but the snake can tell his hand is shaking. The man always does quiver with fear, the stench of regret weeping from his pores.

Then the voice, high and cold, floats towards them through the air. He snake finds she does not mind it; Lord Voldemort, as he has taught her to address him, is gentle with her. He is violent, certainly, and high handed with the fool, but he has shown her nothing but respect since she joined him. She finds she is now relaxed in his presence. But he means nothing to her, he is a means to an end, one she will show cooperation but no more than is necessary to achieve her own goal.

She finds the sight before her slightly sickening. “I thought we were friends,” the plump witch sobs and Nagini wonders if she will be asked to dispatch her. It has been several days since she last tasted food. She flicks out her tongue, noting the scent of pudding and sweet wine in the air. Wormtail has evidently treated his captive before coaxing her to this secluded forest. “I… I’ve told you everything that I know. The Triwizard Tournament…”

“That is sufficient.” Nagini tenses as Wormtail carries his charge towards them, standing before the blubbering witch. “I agree you have reached the limit of your usefulness, or almost anyway.”

“What do you mean?” the witch breathes in question.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“No!” Wormtail screams as the green light flashes as it has done so many times before. “You promised!” he yells as he stares down at the lifeless body, fat legs sprawled out over the dirt. “Bertha was harmless!” he squeaks, his voice trembling. “She would have stayed silent. She would have…”

“That is enough, Wormtail, or do I let Nagini teach you a lesson.”

The snake tilts her head at this, her body swaying with her simmering anger. She is not some tool to be commanded. She is herself, independent, not a weapon to be used in chastisement of a disobedient servant. She hisses her displeasure, before Lord Voldemort cuts her off, Wormtail also falling silent as the dark wizard chants a strange incantation.

She opens her mouth, about to ask what he is saying, and then she feels it, a cold, piercing ice as it slices through her form. She writhes on the floor, her long body flailing as she tries to eject the foreign force. But the more she lashes out, biting at her own skin to try and stay in control, the more whatever it is burrows into her soul. Then, all at once, she is calm. He is her and she is him, his obedient servant there to do his will. He does not even need to speak for her to understand what he wishes, and she moves towards him with a sluggish gait.

“Milk Nagini,” Lord Voldemort commands and Wormtail scurries in his bag to get the necessary equipment. “And fear not, you will find her more docile today.” _You will stay still,_ he says imperiously into her mind. _You will not move a muscle. Do not worry. I will protect you. You are mine, and I will keep you safe._

Even as she nods her acquiescence, Nagini feels her desperation; she cannot cry, but her eyes blink rapidly, the only clue of her distress. Once again she is captive, a slave to another. And this time she knows there is no prospect of escape.


End file.
